


Communications

by MajesticMoments



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Sorta Sherlolly, Though no Molly present, s4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajesticMoments/pseuds/MajesticMoments
Summary: He couldn’t help the anxious feeling that seemed to swell inside him, his knees shaky with each step as they came nearer to the shop. A heaviness settling inside him. [Sherlolly-ish, S4, Sherlock, Mary]





	

**Author's Note:**

> It is a sherlolly story, developing Sherlolly. 
> 
> This story does have Irene. I love Irene, she's one of my favorite characters. ASiB, is probably my favorite episode. But I had trouble with this story because I don't want to do her a disservice by not representing her well enough. I didn't tag her name in the tags, because it is a Sherlolly story and I'm always afraid of indirectly provoking people, as that is never my intentions. 
> 
> Mary is here too. I miss Mary. Regardless, this story starts after Rosie is born, and before The Six Thatchers case and the death of our dear sweet Mary. I miss Mary... 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do no own these characters or the scenes referenced to. They belong to ACD and BBC Sherlock. This is just an interpretation I had of it S4.

_How’s the pathologist?_  
  
That alone raised his eyebrows. She never inquired after anyone. Never.  
  
She hadn’t texted in months and its been at least a year since he last replied.  
  
Sherlock glad his phone was on silent, he didn’t want to deal with the questions if John heard _that_ alert. Sherlock silently thanked Mary, she made him silence the phone after notification tones woke Rosie one too many times. Reluctantly complying only after Mary laid out some playful but imaginative threats, he couldn’t risk it.    
  
“Something the matter?” John asked from the across the table. Sherlock had been staring at his phone the larger part of a minute, his mind flitting different thoughts about.  
  
Sherlock put his phone face down immediately, responding with, “Fine.”

Shaking out his newspaper and raising it up again. But John didn’t question him further, only continued eating breakfast whilst typing away at his computer. Mary sitting in John’s chair, looking at Sherlock with curious eyes.  
  
Sherlock knew what Mary’s expression would be, despite the paper that blocked his view. _Fibbing_. She didn’t say anything though. Eventually, he heard her turn her attentions back to Rosie, continuing with the baby talk. But Mary would notice he never flipped the page, his eyes boring a hole into the centerfold of the paper.  
  
Sherlock’s knee bounced in anticipation, the nerves settling there, he didn’t realize. It wasn’t even fifteen minutes when he brought the paper down, a bit more aggressively than anticipated. John and Mary’s eyes going to him immediately. John’s eyebrows scrunched, Mary’s face sporting a small smile, his frustrations obviously a level of entertainment to her.  
  
Ignoring them, he finished his coffee with one gulp, electing in the moment to carry Rosie for a bit. Mary could tell something was off, sending him a questioning look. He never carried his goddaughter unless instructed to, but she didn’t hesitate, only handing Rosie off with a smile and getting up to freshen her cup.  
  
Sherlock was always afraid he’d drop the child, so small in his hands, as if she’d slip through his fingers. Despite his hesitation, it didn’t seem Rosie ever sensed it, only curling in a bit more as Sherlock brought his arm around her. Her small form fitting easily along the carriage made by his forearm and chest, eventually closing her eyes. Mary teased him about the fact Rosie easily found comfort with him. Sherlock was certain its why Mary and John came around so often, he could get Rosie to sleep at the drop of a hat. Honestly, he didn’t know how he accomplished it, it just sort of happened.    
  
But five minutes later, Rosie started to stir no doubt wanting to be fed. Crying babies, definitely not his area. He passed her back to Mary before the cries became more frantic. John always laughed, saying Sherlock only ever looked most afraid in those moments.  
  
Without Rosie as a distraction, he paced the room, back and forth at a speed too fast for such a small flat.  
  
“Done with the twitter cases, then?” John questioned, looking up from his laptop.  
  
“No. What makes you say that?” His voice rushed.  
  
“Its the longest I’ve seen you without your phone in over a month.”  
  
“Boring, they’re all boring.” Waving it off with the flick of his hand. Again, he knew Mary’s expression, _fibbing_. Yet, she didn’t say anything.  
  
Still pacing, he chanced a look in her direction, well aware she didn’t say anything because it was obvious something disturbed him. He’d been on twitter cases and text cases for several months now, without a second glance at much else, any deviance from that routine would be noticeable.  
  
He pressed send before he even realized his phone was in his hand, a message typed out. His mind seemingly on autopilot. The message highlighted in a blue bubble on the phone screen.  
  
_SHE’S NOT YOUR CONCERN._  
  
Why he answered like that, he didn’t know. But it was too late to retract the message.  
  
The response was immediate.  
  
_You followed John, once. I’m sure you remember the way. One hour._  
  
He stopped pacing. Standing still, staring at his phone.  
  
Mary’s eyes looked up to him briefly, a plan in mind, “I’m late for my appointment. John, will you drop Rosie at nursery?” Already putting Rosie into a carrier and packing her things.  
  
John looked up from his computer, too focused on editing his latest blog, startled when he realized the time. “Sure. Of course.” Closing the laptop and grabbing his work bag, followed by Rosie. “I’ll see you later then. Lunch?”  
  
“Yup.” Mary smiled, kissing him and Rosie as they headed to the door, John mumbled a goodbye to Sherlock as he and Rosie walked out.   
  
“Sherlock?” Mary asked tentatively. Sherlock was tense, like a deer in the woods, ready to flee if provoked.  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“Everything alright?” Approaching him slowly.  
  
“Yeah… Yes. See you Mary.” Only looking to her upon saying yes, his face impassive, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, leaving her then to walk to his room.  
  
Mary watched him carefully, unaware of what he was thinking. She picked up her scarf and bag and went out the door.

* * *

  
The Woman. She’s here. In London. They agreed it safest for her to stay out of the country with only a few places she could be without risk of extradition. It was dangerous to return, even if presumed dead.  
  
He’s walking somewhere on the fourth floor, down a scaffolded walkway of the warehouse, a large chasm open in the center of this part of the building. Apparently, an abandoned renovation.  
  
Her voice rings out before she steps onto the walkway on the other end, stopping him from walking further. Her hair is shorter, perhaps a shade or two lighter, but still dressed in a sophisticated manner, clean cut.  
  
“Mr. Holmes.” A smile, she’s seemingly glad to see him. “Its been ages. I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me.”  
  
“Well, you know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder,” sarcasm lacing his words as the sentence progressed.  
  
“You can tell your friend to come out.” Her eyes looked to the right of him to the other side of the narrow building, another walkway opposite the one they stood on.

“No secrets here. Am I right, _Mary_?” The slight inflection on the name, the only indication Irene saw beyond Mary's identity.  
  
Sherlock doesn’t follow Irene’s gaze though, only looking to where she still stood. He knew Mary followed him. He was happy for the diversion she created earlier so he could leave the flat right away. Though Mary couldn’t have known the reason, not till now.  He hears her footsteps as she emerges from her hiding spot.  
  
“Mrs. Watson," Irene said, with a nod of acknowledgement.  
  
“So, you’re Irene Adler,” Mary’s voice filling the air, a bit of awe evident in her tone. Already succumbed to the fact Irene knew things about her. Mary knew Irene’s tactics, her past was in safe-keeping for the moment and of no immediate concern.  
  
“I’d be delighted to learn what John and Sherlock told you about me,” Irene’s voice is playful, her eyes shooting a glance briefly back in the detective's direction before looking back to Mary, “I’m afraid John’s blog doesn’t do me justice.”  
  
She looked to Sherlock again, but still spoke to Mary, “Did Sherlock tell you about Karachi?”  
  
Irene watched Sherlock's face, amused when he interrupted then, “For the sake of brevity, care to share what warranted risking your cover to come here?”  
  
“Maybe I just wanted to see you.” It was always like this with her, evading the question, despite how often you asked.  
  
“A wasted visit then," there was no humor in his voice, just a stating a fact.  
  
“I should hope not,” she exhaled a bit then, looking away to the ground before returning her gaze, “I’m not here to antagonize you, Mr. Holmes. I’m merely a messenger.”  
  
“And the message?”  
  
“I must admit.” Her arms coming up as if in surrender. “I was surprised when I learned, even dear old Jim didn’t see this.”  
  
“Seeing as he’s dead, his opinion doesn’t seem relevant. I’m here, you have my attention. What’s the problem?”  
  
“Oh, I’m not the one with the problem, you are.”  
  
“And what problem is that, exactly?”  
  
“I text and text, and no response,” Irene directs her words to Mary again, as if explaining the situation, bringing her up to speed, “I mention the pathologist one time, and here he is, in the flesh. Bit obvious actually, wouldn't you agree?”  
  
Mary ignored her, only looking to Sherlock, hoping to read something from his face.  
  
“What do you know? How does it concern Dr. Hooper?” He asks bluntly, trying to get the conversation back. Irene’s smile seems to have gotten larger at his question, but her eyes soft, not mocking. Just an indication that she was aware of something.  
  
The silence pushed Irene to continue, “I have it on good authority she’s of interest.”  
  
“Of interest to who?”  
  
“To you.” She was testing the waters, noting only the way he swallowed, yet his face expressionless. Her smile still present, her eyes giving way to slight amusement before she continued, “To other people, powerful people. I don’t know who but her name’s come through the wire.”  
  
“In what context?” The information wasn't enough.  
  
“I’ve told you all I know," relenting after a brief pause. Sherlock chose to believe her, there’s no reason she would withhold anything.  
  
“You could have texted. This doesn’t necessitate a visit.” Sherlock’s tone giving way to irritation.  
  
“Yes, perhaps.” Irene still watched him. Sherlock remained motionless, his eyes still fixed on her. What was the point?  
  
Mary watched the interaction, intrigued. She wasn’t familiar with Irene, not in the way that allowed her to know the meaning behind her movements and expressions, but it was all there.  
  
“As I recall, I never did properly thank you,” her voice relinquishing the air of confidence it had previously, as if slightly saddened, dejected even, “Given our history, I’m merely repaying a debt.”  
  
Sherlock watched her a bit longer, breathing in deeply, “Well, if that is all, then Mary and I will go.” He made a turn to walk away.  
  
“I’ll contact. If I learn anything more.” Her voice bringing him to a halt.  
  
Sherlock turned, nodded in acknowledgement, despite his earlier tones, his voice softer this time, grateful, “Thank you.”  
  
Then continued walking back down the long walkway and out of the building the way he came.  
  
Their exits are different, the warehouse a maze of dangers as the scaffolding and floors gave way to age and lack of upkeep. Mary emerged outside eventually, eyes scanning the area looking for Sherlock.

She heard him come around the corner calling out to her, “Mary?”  
  
“Right here.” Not a necessary response, but she spoke anyway. Catching up with him as he turned away, she wrapped her arm around his as they walked off toward a road. A bit of a trek to busier streets where they could hail a taxi, the area a mess of abandoned buildings.  
  
Sherlock didn’t say anything, remaining silent as if in deep thought, Mary choosing to do the same. It was a few minutes before Mary broke the silence, the air a bit too tense.  
  
“Fancies you, doesn’t she? Cares, even.” Mary smiling up to him, he didn’t return the gesture though. Only sending her a quick glare, unconvincing but still, not in the mood for the banter.  
  
“Of course she doesn’t care. Not the way you’re implying.” He was distracted, still arm in arm, his voice lacked the reverb that would vibrate through his body, his voice soft.  
  
“I think you’d be surprised,” Mary obviously entertained, judging by the sound of her voice. Sherlock only rolled his eyes at her words.  
  
“What was the message she sent this morning?” The teasing over for now. He unlocked his phone, pulling up the message then handed her the phone. Mary looked at the message, noting the time stamps.  
  
_How’s the pathologist? - 7:32 AM_  
  
_SHE’S NOT YOUR CONCERN. - 8:01 AM_  
  
Mary realized then, what amused Irene. She hadn’t described who the pathologist was. No pronoun. No indication. With the flick of her thumb, some of the previous texts appear. Most, if not all messages from Irene. Some texts ending with ‘Let’s have dinner.’ The salutation becoming less used in the more recent messages. But none ever mentioned another person, save for John, but they didn’t inquire after his well being. This morning’s text was different.  
  
For all Mary knew they could have never discussed Molly, yet Sherlock seemed assured of who Irene meant. A pretty immediate assumption given his behavior this morning. How aggravated Sherlock appeared. Thrown from his routine, his words coming off a bit harsher than normal when John questioned him. Granted, there was little to the imagination about who she could have inquired after.  
  
Then their exchange in the warehouse. Irene's words directed to Mary, as if an outside joke that Sherlock wasn’t aware of, only one that Irene and Mary knew.  
  
“You went to her, didn’t you?” Mary questioned, locking the phone after seeing all she needed to see.  
  
“To who?” The mornings conversations a muddle of Molly and Irene, the question needed clarification  
  
“Molly,” Mary stated.

Sherlock made Molly relevant. Molly was a good friend, more than Mary could have ever asked for. But why Molly remained, after all these years, had been a mystery to Mary. Sherlock, the connection from Molly to Mary, John, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock was the acquaintance between them all, the intermediary. Knowing Sherlock, Mary had questioned the motives behind his and Molly's relationship. But she always found herself surprised as she learned more about them.  
  
“When?” He was being difficult, even if unintentionally, subconsciously evading the question.  
  
“The fall.” She finally said, after he looked to her to continue. The crunch of the gravel beneath their shoes the only sound.  
  
“Yes, but that’s irrelevant right now.”  
  
She bit her tongue. If she said anything, he’d only rebuff the implication. He was present for everything this morning, for all that transpired. But the purpose behind Adler coming to him, her message, everything seemed to go past him.  
  
“She wouldn’t have risked coming to you in person if she didn’t care."  
  
He didn’t respond to that. He could tell there were multiple meanings to her statement but he refused to dwell on it.  
  
“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” Mary said, not stating who she referred to, but somehow Sherlock knew she meant Molly.  

* * *

  
There is no Mary to tell him to silence his phone this time. Funny, that the notification sounds just as he and John finish speaking about her.  
  
But the text alert is loud, recognizable, and John freezes. A case that seemed a lifetime ago, but John’s mind still put two and two together, evident when he turns to face him. Even Sherlock realizes there’s no other way for the situation to be perceived.  
  
It isn’t till they’re walking along a crosswalk, John distracted by the traffic of cars and people, that he hazards checking his phone. The message only one word.  
  
_Soon._  
  
That's it, nothing more, no details. She hadn’t contacted in nearly five months, not since their meeting. He types out a reply.  
  
_DETAILS?_  
  
Pressing send, he needs more information. His phone pings immediately. Automatic reply.  
  
_Message Send Failure._  
  
He tries again.  
  
_Message Send Failure._  
  
Looking up from his phone, he realizes he doesn't have Mary here to bounce ideas off, her intuition not there to guide him.  
  
He couldn’t help the anxious feeling that seemed to swell inside him, his knees shaky with each step as they came nearer to the shop. A heaviness settling inside him. Mary gone and a danger to Molly approaching.  
  
His anxiety couldn’t be squelched, only alleviated slightly when he sees Molly through the cafe window, sitting at a table waiting for his and John’s arrival.

**Author's Note:**

> The final scene is in reference to Irene's text alert sounding at the end of The Lying Detective before heading off to have have cake with Molly. 
> 
> I believe Irene's text was meant to be a catalyst for John to have his revelation, but I always found it interesting that there weren't many, if any, references to actual continued communication. And the fact that the message came at a time when all plot lines pointed to the issues of TFP, this idea just came about and I couldn't let it go. 
> 
> And in all honesty, that ring alert can mean any number of things...


End file.
